


Falling Rain

by gnosiophobic



Series: Footprints in the Snow [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnosiophobic/pseuds/gnosiophobic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inadequacy.</p>
<p><i>But what could she want from me anyway?</i>   He pulled himself back from his tantalizing imagination, back to the ruthless truth.   <i>An old, graying cripple.  A man without honor.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Rain

**Author's Note:**

> So here's where I start having to incorporate plot for everything to make sense. Hope it comes across okay.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for your amazing comments and feedback! I'm sure I wouldn't have the confidence to post all this without them. So for those of you out there still reading my little rambles, I can't thank you enough! Also, enjoy!

When Jaime first heard of the War of Two Dragons, he refused to believe such a tale.  He’d thought it as ridiculous as believing those children’s bedtime stories of Others and grumpkins north of the wall.  But Daenerys Targaryen sacking King’s Landing, burning it to the ground with beasts said to be as large as Aegon the Conquerer’s own, proved true.  The boy king had perished for a certainty, and no sign was found of the prisoner queen, but many presumed her dead as well.  Of them all, he was surprised to find the death of his king struck him hardest.  _That makes four fallen kings under my tenure.  One by mine own hand.  Two false by my seed.  And the other unready for the throne, who may well have killed himself_ , he thought bitterly _._ Though Tommen was a sweet boy and every bit a Lannister, he was still Robert’s son.  Cersei made sure of that.  Regretfully, Jaime mourned the opportunity more than the boy himself.

He tried to bring forth images of his sister, young and golden, on the jagged shores of Casterly Rock, laughing delightfully, innocently as the sea water and sunlight misted across her skin.  Instead he sat, unmoved.  Once he would have expected to fall dead at the same moment as his twin, his other half.  Or at the very least sense her pain.  But no longer.  Even as she may yet live, not a part of him stirred.  _Cersei died the moment I burned that letter,_ he knew. _Her pathetic plea, her final grasp at me._

 

But when Jaime learned that an alive Aegon Targaryen had reached the Stormlands even before his aunt struck King’s Landing, only anger brewed within him.  Attacking the seven kingdoms after a devastating war, now entering a harsh winter was smart, but when he heard the two Dragons marched on each other as well, he roared with laughter.

Among other eastern keeps, Tarth had fallen early, and Aegon spared no Westerosi highlords, not even the just Evenstar.  To Aegon, they were traitors all the same, he’d heard it said.  By all accounts, the once-dead prince could have made a fine king before the siege drove him mad.  _Just like Targaryens,_ Jaime thought _.  In the end, they all become Aerys._

He’d given up his golden hand for an account of Tarth, severing his final link to the nonsense of Lannisters and debts.  When Brienne learned the news, she slumped in her saddle as though she had died as well.

 

Days later, the sting of loss had begun to fade for Jaime, and it was failure that plagued him now, staying like a sour taste in his bitter mouth.  Not so for Brienne.  She acted like a lost straw doll, swaying in her saddle, only eating when forced and speaking even less.  Jaime left her as that.  When his own father died, he stood at a sept for days next to the decaying body with its curling smile and rotten smell, and went away inside.  He doubted Brienne could do the same. _Let her mourn in her own way_ , he decided.  _She’ll come to me if she needs comfort.  This time, I won’t refuse her._   And that night, she did.

He sat on watch, leaning his back against a magnificent crone of a tree when she came to him without a word.  Timidly, she leaned into him, placing her head upon his chest as jolts of sobs overtook her.  He didn’t ask her to speak of it, instead offering the only comfort he could give as he stroked her shoulder, held her and delicately kissed her aching head just once.  Hours later, devastating sobs had exhausted her and she drifted to a peaceful sleep.  Her watch should have come next, but Jaime didn’t wake her.  The Maid needed rest, and he refused to let her go.  When Hunt awoke and saw them tangled amongst each other the following morning, he’d only stared at his boots for a moment before he took to the woods.  They waited on him for hours before he returned.

 

Jaime wasn’t sure why he expected her to come to him night after night, but when she laid alone instead, disappointment began to cloud his thoughts.  He’d kissed her both sweetly and passionately, confessed feelings once forbidden, but she’d only come to him in a fit of grief.  _Even free of vows and oaths.. for all the good they’ve done, she stays away,_ Jaime thought sorely.He tried to forget the countless times he'd stopped himself from giving in as well.  Like when they hunted alone, and she sat so close their thighs touched.  They spoke only in whispers to keep from frightening their prey, and each time it became harder not to reach for her skin with his lips.  Or the time they washed in the river and he barely managed to hide his wanting glances as she effortlessly slipped her tunic off and lowered herself into the flowing water.

_But what could she want from me anyway?_ He pulled himself back from his tantalizing imagination, back to the ruthless truth.  _An old, graying cripple.  A man with shit for honor.  I saved King’s Landing from one Targaryen just so another could have it burn.  I created false kings I swore to protect just to let them die.  I freed my treacherous little brother from unjust imprisonment just so he could commit a crime more egregious.  I couldn’t even return a naive girl to her mother._ Even after he lost his sword hand, Jaime Lannister never felt so inadequate.

That evening he went to her, but not for comfort.

 

“If I’m not mistaken, Maidenpool is but a day’s ride away.  I once offered a maid a bath there, but she rejected me.”  Humor dulled the ache of failure, he found.  “That offer still stands, you know.”

“Please don’t mock me, not you..” Brienne’s voice cracked with each word.  “Have you forgotten what I've lost?  And you presume to jape at my expense?”  She refused to even glance in his direction.

“Of course not.  Forgive me, my la--”

“It’s all I’ve ever been, isn’t it?  Nothing but a mockery.  And now I lack land and a title, the only things that made me even the tiniest bit desirable to anyone.”

“Surely you don’t believe that,” his hand reached for hers, but she pulled away.

“And why shouldn’t I?  I’ve been told as much by men my entire life.  No man has ever cared for more than my dowry or potential for a joke,” her tone teetered between hysterical and horrifically acrid.

“I thought I had made it abundantly clear that wasn’t true.”

“You’ve only been without your sister for too long.”  The words hit him like a biting dagger at the neck.  

“I’ve spent enough time with men starved of women.  They get urges even an ugly one can satisfy well enough.  Tell me, do you bring up her face when you kiss me, Ser?  Or do you just laugh at the pathetic, ugly, stupid girl before you?”  Jaime’s breath caught in his throat.  _She’s never said so much._ Part of him wanted to stomp away, angrily.  Leave her there, pitying herself, letting her believe the nonsense she spoke.  And once, he likely would have.  Instead, he reached for her, searching for what little touch she would provide, only to be refused once more.

“I loved my sister more than any brother should, that much is true, as abhorrent as it is,” his voice much slower and softer than he anticipated.  “We were two halves of a whole, our own perfect mirrors.  I wanted her, I wanted to be only hers, and for her to be only mine, and I told her that.  But she lied, betrayed me, and wiped herself from fond memories.  She craved only power, not me.  All of the seven kingdoms knew how detestable it was, but I was blind to it,” his gaze focused solely on the frozen dirt, unwilling to search for the harsh judgment surely hiding in her eyes.  He hadn’t meant reveal so much, but the wench seemed to draw truths from him like a stream to the sea.  Only when he chanced a glance at her large, unwavering hand did he continue.

“But now, where I once saw her golden curls and slender fingers when I closed my eyes, I see straw and freckles, callouses and scars.  Blue eyes, not emerald..”

“I betrayed you once,” her sharpness only softened some.  When he reached for her this time, she stilled.

“You had no choice.  I’ve never blamed you for that.  And you seem to forget so easily that you saved me as well,” he realized then he spoke of more than Stoneheart.  Gently, he pulled her to him, clutching her head against his shoulder before she broke once more.

“I'm sorry..  I didn't mean.." she gasped.  "When I heard about my father.. about Tarth.. I crumbled.  I hadn’t seen him in so long.. and now he’s just gone..  I felt as though I’d failed him more than I could ever understand,” her voice trembled with each word and Jaime drew her closer.  

“Jaime..” she drew in her breath sharply.  “What will you do now?  Will you return to King’s Landing?  ..Will you leave us to defend the capital?” Brienne asked between falling tears and ragged breaths.  Jaime snorted.

“I think not.  I quite like my head atop my shoulders.”  A weak laugh escaped her between sobs as she clutched his neck as though he might disappear under her fingertips.

“And you?  Where shall you travel next?”  Her eyes met his then, determined and full of fight.

“The Vale,” she announced through drying streams of tears.  “I’ve wanted to look for Sansa Stark there since I started this quest.  I think I may find her yet.” _There’s the stubborn, brave wench,_ he smiled.  But then she paused, her confidence waned some when she looked up to him.

“..Will you follow me?”  She sounded almost like a lost, begging child.

“Anywhere,” he whispered softly into her tangled hair.

 

The Maid sat tall in her saddle the next morning as they left for the Eyrie.  Tiny bits of snow flitted in the air around them, melting as they landed gently upon warmer skin.  Cheerily, Podrick opened his mouth to try to catch the floating bits of ice with his tongue and Brienne laughed heartily for the first time in weeks.  Every so often, he’d catch her eyes upon him, forcing a flush and shy smile when she knew she was caught.  _A bashful maiden.  Is there anything sweeter?_   Jaime found himself in especially good spirits that day, telling stories to Podrick of his time squiring for Lord Crakehall, berating Hunt less than usual, and sending his own grins back to the wench.  _If I could see myself, I’d likely be sick_ , but he cared little.

When they reached a small village not far from the great mountain keep, Brienne lumbered about, asking townspeople if they’d seen this _highborn girl of three-and-ten with blue eyes and auburn hair._ The wench had repeated it so many times, it played over in his head like a distasteful song from a drunken singer.  Podrick, however, stood entranced by some young maiden with hair of coal, eyes to the ground, carrying a loaf of bread as she took off briskly with another girl at her side.  _He’ll be a grown man soon and his eyes are ready enough for it._ Jaime had surrounded himself with enough squires to know when young girls began to cross their minds more than swordplay.  For a moment, he thought of Peck and the servant girl, Pia.  _May they keep each other warm this winter_ , Jaime thought with a devilish smile.

That evening, they stayed in an inn nearby, saving themselves from the cold with a warm meal, ale, and the soft crackle of burning firewood.  All weary from their travels and searches, conversation grew sparse until Podrick finally spoke.

“I-I I think I saw her.”

“Who, Podrick?” Brienne casually asked, keeping her fingers busy picking at her roasted pig.  Podrick’s voice changed to just above a whisper.

“Lady Sansa.”  Podrick nearly winced as everyone turned to the boy suddenly, eyes wide.  It was Jaime who spoke first.

“Why did you wait until now to say it?”  He asked, more amused than accusatory.

“I--I.. I wasn’t sure.  I wasn’t sure if it was her, Ser.  Sorry.”

“It was the girl with the dark hair, wasn’t it?  So that’s why you were so captivated.  And I thought you had finally become a man,” he laughed then, alone.  A harsh glance from Brienne stopped him.

“We should stay here in this town, then.  She’s sure to come back,” Hyle hadn’t spoken that much all day, which pleased Jaime some.  Brienne nodded.

“And we’ll be waiting.”

 

______________________________

 

“Looks like we’re sharing, Lannister,” Hyle announced as he entered the dimly lit room, slumping his saddlebags onto the wooden floor next to Jaime’s.  _Wonderful_ , Jaime thought.  But Hunt said little else as he pulled his boots from his feet, revealing blistered, dirty toes stretching in freedom.  With a shiver, Hunt began to throw old, yellowing books into the fireplace.  Jaime caught one with his good hand before it reached the flames.

“What are you doing?” he asked, incredulous.

“It’s cold in here,” Hyle reached to the table for another book to throw into the fire, _The Great Sieges of Westeros._

“I doubt the inn keep would appreciate you destroying his book collection.  Grab some furs,” Jaime said as he reached across the table, resting his stump upon another book before Hunt could seize it.  The scarred, puckered skin laid exposed and Hunt flinched at the sight.  _Do others truly forget I’ve lost my hand?  Will it always be some big surprise?_   Without a word, Hunt moved away from the table to wrap himself in a grayed, dingy wolf fur and huddled upon a pallet on the floor.  A few clumsy moments of silence passed before he spoke again.

“She must have hated you once,” he spoke cynically.  “The only men she could ever trust were her father and her King.  But she more than trusts you..   What have you done to earn it?”  Jaime paused, unsure if he wanted to respond.

“I’ve never given her a reason not to,” he muttered.

“Oh.  So she told you.  She’s like to never forget about that little wager.”Jaime shifted in his bed, listening to Hunt’s sour tone.

“You know, when I awoke that morning, saw you two and headed off, I found this little town not far from where we slept.  Travelers were there talking of the war in the south.  They say the Targaryens have done more damage than all our five kings combined.” _Why does he speak of this?_

“Reports from the north sound far more grim, however,” Hunt continued, sounding more detached.  “Not that I believe in that kind of stuff, myself.  The Dragons, though, that threat is very real.  Men say they’re offering land and titles for the heads of those who betrayed their house in the rebellion,” Hunt paused then, as if waiting for Jaime to interrogate.  But instead, he let silence become his query.

“The man who brings the Kingslayer’s head is said to inherit all of the Westerlands..” _No surprise there._   “You'd best watch yourself, Ser Jaime.”  It sounded more like a threat than a warning.

“So why haven’t you?” Jaime prodded, now propping himself up within reaching distance of his sword.

“Why haven’t I what?” Hyle asked stupidly.

“Why haven’t you taken my rotting head to a mad Targaryen and claimed your prize?  ..Or are you waiting until I sleep so you won’t have to fight me for it?”  Amused but uncertain, Jaime searched the man in the fading light emerging from the fireplace.

“I won’t take your head, Kingslayer,” Hyle admitted, sounding as though he spoke true.  A long, awkward pause swallowed him then.  Jaime began to wonder if the man had fallen asleep until he let out a loud breath.

“She’s lost her father and her home.  I won’t be the one to take the man she loves.”  Hunt sounded defeated at that, but Jaime, almost elated.  Hearing it from someone else's lips made it feel so real, so palpable that his chest surged with warmth at the thought.  Still, that night Jaime slept lightly near his sword, only hoping the hedge knight had more honor than sense.


End file.
